Facing Down the Doubt Monster

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Oh, fellow writers. So, while I work on the revision of what will be my fourth published novel (my sixth written novel, and none of this is counting any of the work-for-hire novels I’ve ghostwritten), I look up and keep seeing this ugly face in the mirror.

Doubt.

I thought, by now, now I’m writing book #4, surely, surely I’d have vanquished it by now. But no.

The funny, though not really ha-ha, thing I’ve learned as my career as an author moves on is that the doubts don’t go away. In fact, I could swear that they are all the more heavy on my shoulders and heavy-breathing in my ear than they ever were when I was first starting out, and surely before I published.

Before I published, I had no idea what would happen in the “real world” once my books hit the shelves. (If they even did.) If I got so lucky, would my books be despised, lauded, ignored, used as a stepstool to climb up and get a better book? All of the above, it turns out, but when you are in that place in your career when you don’t yet know, when the road before you is hazy and fogged up and could lead anywhere at all… Well, anything could happen.

I felt oddly positive back then. I had doubts, sure, but I also had so much blind hope. So many dreams. So much possibility.

Now here I stand with the third book—17 & Gone—out last spring and due to come out in paperback this March, and my fourth book—The Walls Around Us—getting closer and closer to what I want it to be as I work through this revision. And while I do look at my pages and realize I’ve learned so much and have gotten better as a writer, I find myself doubting so much more often than I did before my first book—Dani Noir—and then my first true book of my heart—Imaginary Girls—came out. The doubts are now something I war with every single morning as I sit down to write.

I look ahead now and I see the road. I see all the turns in the road. All the potholes. All the steep hills and the far drops. I don’t want to drive that road.

In truth, as we all know, I can’t really see ahead to the road (none of us can see the future to what will happen when our books come out, it’s always a mystery), but because I’ve been on the road a few times by now, I think I know what to expect and it’s coloring everything I’ve yet to experience.

It’s damning. I wish I could pluck some of my old innocence back and just write away, lalala. And yet, I’ve also learned so much from my previous experience and I want to build on that and grow.

Conflicting.

The truth is, you only get one (possibly two, as I did in a way, because not too many people knew about Dani Noir, and it was middle-grade) chances at a debut.

I tell myself that, in a way, each new book is a new shot and a new chance at being the best you can be… But I also know that, in a way, each new book after the first one is jumbled up with what happened before. You can’t truly separate yourself, even if you change your name. (Sometimes I wonder about that.) Readers remember. Publishers remember. Bookstores remember. And you remember.

I think all of that has only made me doubt MORE. How is it possible to have learned so much, to have gained confidence as a writer and at the same time lost it and question everything?

I’m beginning to see that this is just a natural part of the publishing process for some of us. It’s a piece of this job. So now the job grows to include ways of getting past this.

So each morning when I sit down at the café table to write, I have to make the daily effort to sweep the doubts away. I don’t look in the mirror at the monster. I avoid picturing the road ahead. I try very, very hard to think nothing about the after.

I have to think only of the here-and-now, which is all any of us can control anyway. The here-and-now of writing this draft at this café table this morning.

My ways to cure creeping doubt include:

  • Rereading one of the books that inspired me to become a writer, or even a page from it, a little dip into that memorable magic and then slipping the book back in place on the shelf…
  • Reading an inspiring book on the process of writing (I’ve been carrying Still Writing by Dani Shapiro for weeks now, reading it in pieces in the mornings before I write)…
  • Listening to a happy-making song on repeat with headphones in and bopping around on the chair to myself…
  • Talking with a fellow writer and discovering, oh wow, she has the same worries I do and this is perfectly normal and I am not alone…
  • Talking with your best reader, the person who loves everything you write and believes in you (I hope you have this person—it could be your partner, your best friend, your agent, your mom) and let yourself hear the good, let the good outweigh any worries you have over any bad…
  • Find an old letter or email where someone said something amazing about something you wrote and read it once more, like it’s the first time. It helps to keep a little folder of these for future moments…
  • Close your eyes, picture the finished book in your hands, the one you will write, the one you absolutely will finish one day, and let yourself appreciate that feat that you know you will achieve…
  • Picture yourself as you were before, when all of this writing stuff was only a far-flung figment of your imagination. I like to picture myself at age 14–15, out in the woods behind my house with a notebook, this small-town girl who’d never even seen a real-live author in person, who loved to read and would never have really expected she would end up here, where I am right now, a WRITER. I think, to see me now, she would have cried in delight…

Fellow writers, those of you who share my affliction, help me out here: What cures your writing doubts and how do you face down your doubt monster?

The End-of-Year Quiet

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Why, hello there.

I’ve been quiet. Since I last spilled my thoughts here, I worked hard to get my first draft of The Walls Around Us done by deadline.

I will tell you the truth, want it, want the truth? After everything I said in that post—shouting my love and appreciation for deadlines from the rooftops—I didn’t make the deadline.

I needed a week’s extension.

Sometimes things are impossible, and sometimes you need to trust your gut and face the fact that you need more time. Writing creatively on deadline is one of the most frustrating things I’ve done. (Oh and sometimes you get a case of the giant hives while you are writing on deadline, so you look like a bright-red, itchy pufferfish, which is all well and good until your fingers swell up and can’t bend and your hands burn so you have to hold an ice pack, thus making typing on a laptop physically impossible. Yeah, that happened.) Moving on.

I worked hard, and that’s what matters.

It’s now the end of December and I’m revising—and revising is my most favorite part of the book-publishing process, even though I will fully admit it’s not easy. Next deadline is in January. I meant to blog about writing and revising and all that, but I’ve found myself in a silent state. Not just here, but in real life, too.

So a step back. A healthy dose of alone time. Building a little writing tent in the bedroom. Gathering hopes and goals for 2014. Revising this book with everything I’ve got. Trying to keep the doubt spiral at bay.

As I was typing up this blog post, I got my last rejection (well, I hope it’s the last one!) of 2013. And I feel fine. It looks like 2014 is going to be the first year since 2009 that I won’t have a writing residency… Which seems right. I’ve had a lot of luck these past few years, and I’m traveling enough as it is next year and want to stay home with E, so New York City: You will have to be my writers colony. See you in the café.

If this blog stays quiet and I don’t post in the next couple weeks, I am wishing you a happy New Year!

p.s. I just realized I haven’t shared this here yet… Good news:

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